Destined for More
by Countess of Belgravia
Summary: He'd died. He'd died young and his life had been miserable. What's he to do now that the Gates of Hell had opened for him? Warnings: Slash, non-magical, underage, pseudo incest, possible mentions of abuse and rape.
1. The beginning of the end

Chapter 1 [June 08, 1990]

He had died not so long ago, his blood stained body had been covered in flowers; where they'd once been white roses, they were now tainted by his life essence. The innocence of his soul had been washed away many years prior by the unspeakable horrors of the world and of his own acts.

His spirit often wandered the dark, stormy streets of London. The violent winds and torrid rain, the almost angelic looking snow in the cold winters, the scorching sun of the summers; through it all, he remained unaffected, always wanting, always searching.

The moonless night sky threw the normally shadowed alley into complete darkness. A red light, pulsing brighter and brighter with each moment that passed, drew his empty gaze. As if hypnotized, he moved closer, his once vibrant green eyes unblinking as he stared into the blazing fire.

Slowly, yet without a trace of hesitancy, he reached towards the flames. They didn't hurt him, as one would expect them to, no, they caressed and licked at his fair flesh; if anyone had been witness, they would say it was an almost loving gesture. Yet his blue tinted lips parted in an inaudible gasp, and he could only stare in fascination at his hand, the same hand that now looked like it could belong to a living human's, for it was not transparent anymore, instead it had the pale flesh it had when he had been alive.

He wasn't dim by anyone's standards, on the contrary, and he knew what this meant, where this flame led to. Still, he floated closer, his body seemingly becoming more alive as he did so. A contented sigh escaped him, unbidden, his eyes half lidded in anticipation. Without a bit of fear or reluctance, he stepped into the burning flames, allowing them to surround his slim figure in their bright embrace.


	2. Innocence is a state of mind

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the wonderful literary piece that is Harry Potter.

He knew he had been innocent once, a long time ago, when he'd been naught but a babe ensconced within the safety of his mother's arms. He liked to think he was happy then, but he couldn't be sure, after all, much time had passed. However, it seemed his happiness was not to last. He stopped being content the second his parents were brutally murdered in their own home, the place that was supposed to be their safe haven, sullied by such a terrible crime.

He didn't really know when it happened, when he began to hate; but he was sure it started around the time the old man with the long beard and tacky clothes dropped him off on his Aunt and Uncle's doorstep. He knew for a fact that the first few years of his life were filled with confusion and hurt. Was he truly such a terrible child? Why did he not deserve to be loved? What had he done wrong to deserve such terrible punishments? Dudley, his cousin, never had to do anything, he must never do anything wrong either since he never got punished; even though, he often hit him and pushed him around.

Aunt Petunia made him feel worthless and useless, she'd always stare at him as if he was nothing but the vilest of insects dirtying her spotless floor, which he had, in fact, cleaned. She often screamed at him how like his parents he was, useless, a waste of space, unwanted, a freak. She was the one who normally woke him up at the crack of dawn, once he became old enough, to cook breakfast and do the chores, like a slave would. If she wasn't satisfied, she would send him to Uncle Vernon for disciplinary measures.

His Uncle Vernon was what he called a disgusting lump, whale-resembling, beast of a man, never out loud, of course, he wasn't stupid, despite what his family thought. The fat man took pleasure in punishing him, of that he was sure. Vernon's form of "discipline", as he referred to it, was nothing if not painful. Every session left his porcelain skin marred with bruises and cuts and a lot of blood. The way his uncle's eyes gleamed every time the belt hit his back, or when the knife cut through his skin like butter, scared him more than the punishment itself. He feared that one day his punishment would be more terrifying than it was now.

By the time he was six, he didn't feel confused or hurt, he felt hate the likes of which he never thought possible. He knew he had to do something, before he snapped, but he wasn't sure what.

**A/N: **Review, please. Suggestions are welcome, and I'll do my best to incorporate them into the story line. Ta-da!


	3. Good bye

Disclaimer: . {Not mine, sadly.} Sparta!

The only thing he could do was run away, but he was so young, so painfully young. How could he possible survive on the streets? He had no delusions, at the tender age of 8, he knew the world was cruel, uncaring, he was scared of being on his own, but he was also frightened of what his uncle might do to him. His body was so small and thin compared to his cousin's "friends"; his skin was pale, sickly pale, and scarred in some places. Harry couldn't understand how his scars were so small and thin, he knew they should be bigger, much more gruesome than they were, but he was thankful, he didn't want to be uglier than he already was.

The little boy knew his uncle was angry that no matter what he did, which tools he used, be it belts, knives, or whips, his unwanted, disgusting nephew had almost completely unmarred flesh after a few weeks. Vernon's anger made him punish the young boy in the most painful ways he could find. He used the freak as a way to relieve stress, when he was angry or frustrated, or just because he felt the bastard deserved it.

In the past few months, his frustration had grown considerably. Petunia was denying him, but he was not going to go out and pay some street whore for sex. No, he was not that kind of man; at least he wasn't when he had a better solution.

XXXXXXX

Harry lay on his bed, his slight frame shivering in pain, shock, terror, and shame. Shaggy black hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and tear stained cheeks, his face was whiter than the dirty sheets he was laying on. Emerald eyes were dull, empty, void of feeling or conscious thought. A whimper escaped his tightly closed lips as he pulled himself into a sitting position with a visible amount of effort; wincing, he reached for one of his too-big-to-fit-him, hand me down shirt to wipe the blood and disgusting fluid off himself with careful movements. While he did this, only one thought ran on his head, like a song on repeat, "I cannot stand this anymore."

XXXXXXX

The next day, his Aunt woke him up, her unbearably shrill voice demanding he get off his "lazy behind" and make their breakfast immediately. Carefully, so as not to put pressure on his sore backside, he rose from his small and lumpy mattress; pushing open the door of his cupboard, he stepped out, gingerly and silently walking toward the kitchen.

With an ease that told of doing the same thing many times before, the little black haired boy arranged a big morning meal for his hated relatives. While they stuffed their faces with the food he cooked, young Harry stood in a corner, knowing he wouldn't be fed today either.

When the Dursley family was done, they provided the raven haired boy with a list of chores that were to be completed before they returned home. That said, Vernon got in his car with his wife and mini whale, driving off to drop Dudley at school, Petunia at the shopping center, and go to work. Carefully looking around to make sure his relatives were truly gone, he returned to his cupboard; gathering some old clothes and snatching some food and drinks. He walked out the front door, heading away from his prison, from the only life he knew, from his pain, torture, and shame. Not once did young Harry Potter look back.

For long, grueling hours he walked, the scorching afternoon sun burning his delicately pale skin something awful. Dusk approached quickly, bringing with it the relief of the night breeze, and the worry of where he would spend the night. The young boy's eyes darted around, desperately seeking shelter from the cold rain he could smell in the air and the winds that were turning violent.

The Fates seemed to favor him that night as he saw a rundown, seemingly abandoned building about a mile away from where he stood. Harry's steps grew hesitant as he neared the entrance; the door was old, hanging by rusty hinges that creaked ominously as he slowly opened it. A shiver went through him, the chilly temperature causing his already cold skin to break into a million goose bumps, the stale and musky air of a place that's not been used for a long time caused his small button nose to wrinkle in obvious distaste.

Sighing, the black haired boy reluctantly huddled in a dry corner, his rumpled clothes strewn haphazardly over him in a pitiful attempt to ward off the cold. Emerald eyes were clouded over in fright, tears welling up which he refused to shed, pale lips turned down in worried frown, thin and reddened arms wrapped around his body, comforting himself, and trying to keep himself warm. Grimacing in disgust, he laid down on the grimy stone floor; closing his eyes, he prayed, to any deity that would listen to his broken pleads, that tomorrow would be a brighter day for him.

**A/N: **Here's the update that I promised, Review!


	4. Stranger

Destined for More chapter 4

"…" – speech

_**Hi **_- thoughts

A quiet presence woke young Harry from his restless sleep; he kept his eyes closed and his breath deep and even as he tried to figure out where the person was. He thought the person was rather close to him as he could hear the breathing and feel foreign eyes burning holes into his bruised body. Heaving a silent sigh, Harry turned over, opening dull emerald eyes to stare at the stranger, an empty gaze that could make one break into goose bumps and shiver in apprehension.

The newcomer was a boy, around 12 years of age going by his height, with platinum blond hair and light purple eyes; his skin was white, unnaturally so, he was skinny, though not as thin as Harry, and his clothes looked expensive. Violet orbs were riveted on Harry's tiny frame; no small amount of curiosity was present in unmoving stare. Lavender met green, neither moved; they simply looked at one another, each trying to figure out why the other was there. The dim lighting in the room gave the illusion of danger, a predator stalking his prey; but both knew better, it wasn't physical; it was a battle of wills, a matter of who would cave in first.

"Who are you?" – spoke the green eyed boy, never breaking eye contact with the stranger.

The blond child straightened his posture almost unconsciously; in a clear and strong voice, he answered,

"Orion, Orion Dali."

Orion had left his house even before the sun had fully risen over the horizon, hoping to be able to spend some time alone in the old factory. He whistled merrily under his breath as he walked the gravel road to the abandoned building; books, pencils, and a sketch pad clasped tightly within his pale, thin hands. Reaching the old place, he entered through a secret passage he had found a few years ago while exploring the dilapidated structure, he'd always been fascinated by it. The silence that surrounded him calmed him, soothing away a tension that he didn't even know was there. He liked the quiet and emptiness and solitude, Orion wasn't one to surround himself with the kind of people who liked to babble endlessly about things he couldn't care less about.

The Dali family was very well known in England, they were influential people who had a strong pull in the political world; upstanding citizens who held balls to raise funds to give to charities whenever they could; people who liked to travel all over the world. Orion was no different; having been born an only child, he had everything he could possible want, the world at his fingers, his to do with as he pleased. He had grown bored of the domesticity and meekness of the people around him early on in his life. Where was the power struggle? The manipulations politics were known for? The cunning needed to fulfill their role in society? Everything was so dull! Yet reputation was everything, he wouldn't ruin his! It seemed that whatever activities he planned for his twisted amusement would have to be kept secret.

The factory had been empty every time he had come, and he came an awful lot. As such, he was completely flabbergasted when he found a small, breathing lump in the corner of one of his favorite dark rooms. Setting down his books, he moved closer wanting to investigate, after all this didn't happen every day; his stormy eyes observed the form for any signs of possible danger, silly, but one never knows. Violet orbs widened as he met the most beautiful green eyes he has ever seen. The huddled child was clearly banged up and in obvious pain, though he tried valiantly to hide it. Yet, through all the bruises and cuts, Orion could see how beautiful the boy was, and he could tell he would grow to be a dashing man. Pain dulled emeralds hid a cunning, resourcefulness, and viciousness that Orion was used to seeing in the mirror each morning. The black haired child would clearly need to be trained, but he already showed so much potential! Orion was giddy inside, dancing in joy at the possibilities.

He was so entranced by the child and his thoughts that he almost missed his question. He straightened his posture, meaning to display a dominance that was not quite there yet, but would be in a few years.

"Orion, Orion Dali." – He answered. A moment passed, during which he realized the boy wasn't going to volunteer the information he wanted. – "And you?"

"Harry Potter."

_**That is such a common name! But no matter, that can be taken care of if necessary.**_

"Pleased to meet you, Harry." –his extended hand was shaken hesitantly, the messy black haired boy's eyes darting from his face to his hand nervously. Gone was his previous attempt at bravado, replaced by a broken spirit.

Orion removed his black jacket and carefully draped it over the shivering boy, in what could be called an affectionate manner; green eyes filled with a gratitude that would not be vocally expressed. The unnaturally pale boy sat down next to Harry quite close, this pleased Orion; it meant the boy was starting to trust him. In a very soft voice, he spoke his question.

"What happened to you, Harry?"

"My uncle," –responded the young child –"he didn't really like me, he always said freaks like me had to be punished."

Violet orbs duly noted the empty gaze of the boy next to him, the dullness that was so blatant in his small voice.

"And how did he…punish you?" –the query was hesitant, barely heard, almost scared.

"He would use the belt, knives, whips, he thought himself to be quite inventive, but he was never happy with the punishments." –by now, Harry's face was pale, his voice distant, and his eyes so far away, haunted by things only he could see.

Orion gulped.

"Did he…touch you…there?" –his tone was scared, unwilling to believe someone would do that to their own blood.

Harry looked up, emotionless eyes locking with Orion's. That was the only answer needed. Orion's countenance became determined and fierce.

"I'll protect you, Harry. From now on, whatever it takes, always."

"Really? Do you promise?"

"I promise."

Harry smiled and threw his arms around his savior's neck, Orion's own wrapping around the small figure that held him so intimately.

A/N: I am so sorry it took me so long to update, but school has been a bit hectic and I have so many papers to write, and my dance midterm next week, and I'm about to pull out my hair and run like a crazy person. I'll try to have the next chapter up within 2 weeks. In the meantime,

REVIEW! =D


	5. Blessed

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter & Co. Got a problem? Call my non-existent secretary who will forward me your message.

Eight years had passed since that fateful morning. Harry could never be thankful enough that Orion had decided to go to the factory that day, his life had become so much better because of it. He now lived with his lavender eyed savior; Orion's parents didn't seem to mind much, then again, they were almost never home. Angel {as he started to call him eight years ago, you know, guardian angel and all that} had taken it upon himself to teach Harry.

Really, who would have known he could be a prodigal student given the chance? Lucifer Dali {he had wanted to forget his previous life completely} was now a fluent speaker, reader, and writer in English, French, German, and Latin; he also learned how to play the piano, often times, he sat in front of the majestic Steinway, his pale long fingers flying over the keys with such and agility that would have made Beethoven himself weep at the notes flowing out and joining together complacently in order to sound out the most seraphic of melodies.

Orion had been ecstatic when he found out his darling devil was an enthusiastic scholar. Lucifer spend many a day and night ensconced within the light green walls of the Dali library, surrounded the volumes upon volumes of knowledge, his nose buried in the text his beautiful hands held with reverence and tender care, and his emerald eyes avidly taking in the words. Both boys would sometimes sit together and discuss the latest book they'd read while drinking tea, that had been secretly spiked by Orion.

Although it may seem like Angel and Lucifer lived a quiet life filled with books, music, and learning, this couldn't be farther from the truth.

**A/N: **I apologize deeply that it's taken me so long to put this up, but I've been really busy between school, work, and Tumblr. I'll try to update soon, don't know when since I still need to finish another one I'm working on. I know I have no right to ask this of you, but please,

Review?


	6. Wicked

DfM Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Warnings: Implied violence

Although the last few years in Harry's life may have seemed like a dream they really weren't. For every good thing that happened, two bad things occurred. Of course, one shouldn't really assume it happened to Lucifer and his Angel. They really were angels, only missing the halos and fluffy white wings. At least, if you asked their family and friends this was the case.

Over the years they had accumulated many skills and acquaintances, not all of them good. It had started about six months after Harry moved in. Orion dragged Harry with him to tour the city, and they had ended up in the more unsavory neighborhood around. They'd bumped into some people, who, for some reason, had taken a liking to them. They'd gone back many times, learning little tricks, like lock picking and how to disable alarms.

After a while, they'd learn more, darker things, things people would frown upon. After all, kids shouldn't be around guns, more less using them on other people for money. They liked it. They enjoyed seeing people willingly open their doors, thinking them harmless, and then screaming in shock once they realized just how dangerous they could be. And they would beg! For their lives, for their belongings, for their wives and children, some would even offer another's life in exchange for their own! But they would only scream once they knives and pincers were brought out, after all, it's no fun if there's no playing involved.

They hadn't started like that, of course. At first, they'd accompany the crew when they decided to steal something, and sometimes the guys would kill someone. They'd only observed back then, taking in the methods used and thinking of ways to improve, to avoid being caught. They'd slowly begun to do things on their own, for the thrill, the power it gave them. It had evolved, and they became bloodthirsty and sadistic, to the infinite chagrin of their victims.

They began doing it for money only a short while ago, a year, perhaps. The crew had put them in contact with some people who offered them training and targets. It was luck, really. After all, not many "companies" offer to train their killers, so it had been a very good opportunity for them. And, like a true Dali, they grabbed it and used it to their biggest gain. They did jobs frequently enough to have saved a considerable amount of money, but not enough to be noticeable, after all, they had a good cover to keep.

Their first kill as hit men had been fairly easy. An old man owed a rather hefty debt to some powerful people. He had failed to pay up and he had to be punished. He had been defenseless, especially considering the shady crowds he associated with. His house was bare, no alarm systems, no complicated locks, just your regular run of the mill house. He didn't have many valuables inside either, presumably because he spent all of his money buying drugs. No kids, no wife, just himself and his pathetic belongings. He had been easily overpowered too! He'd been sleeping. They had woken him up, just to see the terror in his eyes when he saw the barrel of a gun, and then shot him. They'd been very careful cleaning up, they had removed anything that might have possible led the investigators back to them. Then again, who would expect two kids who come from an influential and wealthy family to kill someone in cold blood?

They liked their lives, they were exciting and unpredictable and full of danger. They liked deceiving others into thinking them lovely and innocent. It made the game that much more fun to play!

A/N: Wow, Lucifer, I'm really, terribly sorry I took so fucking long to update, but I'm a procrastinator. Hopefully the next chapter will be up soon!

Review!

Xoxo,

Rae


	7. Love in strange places

DfM Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I, sadly, do not own this. If I did, I wouldn't have to do slave work for a measly salary at a shitty as fuck store.

Warnings: Pseudo-incest, underage.

From the beginning, the relationship between Harry and Orion was different than that of normal siblings, or adopted siblings, in this case. Orion was always very protective of Harry ever since they had first met. He wouldn't let anyone near the young boy if he could help it; he kept away everyone except his parents and the doctors. He didn't want anyone to take his dear Harry from him. Harry belonged to him; that's why he had saved him that day, because he knew that one day, the dark haired boy would be only his.

In turn, Harry didn't want anyone near him except Orion. He was afraid they were going to hurt him, abuse him, and maybe kill him. After all, his uncle had always said that no one would want such a waste of space. But Orion wanted him, Harry could tell. The older boy spent all of his time with him, teaching him, hugging him, making sure he was alright. And Harry reveled in that, in the feeling of someone taking care of him of their own volition. It was a new experience, and one he loved. He looked forwards to the nights Orion would sneak into his room just because he wanted to cuddle. They would talk about everything, their aspirations, their hopes, how irritating the tutors were and how mother nagged too much. Sometimes, if Harry was really lucky, Orion would kiss him. Nothing much, just the barest hint of lips touching lips, of warmth, and love. It was moments like this when Harry could see just how much his handsome devil cared.

It never went further than a chaste kiss, no matter how much the younger boy pleaded with his pseudo-brother. Nothing really happened until Harry's 13th birthday. His family had thrown a lavish fest in his honour and had invited everyone they knew. They had gifted him with many expensive and unneeded presents, but he politely thanked everyone nonetheless. His favourite gift was the dog his brother gave him. She was a tiny thing, a young pup still, but she was beautiful; her fur was black as a moonless night and soft to the touch, she was so affectionate, and her eyes were mesmerizing to young Harry, one blue and one green eye that stared at him with so much excitement and trust that it took his breath away. The young boy gently put the pup down and threw himself at his brother, hugging him tightly and professing his gratitude over and over. Orion had just smiled and quietly whispered in his ear. The guests just smiled at the scene, albeit a bit confused at the deep blush that settled upon the boy's cheeks.

*1st P.o.W, Harry*

That night, I laid in bed, staring sightlessly at the stars painted on the midnight blue ceiling. My musings were cut short as my heard the door open slowly. A bright smile overtook my face, still pretty in the way young boys are, as I gazed reverently upon the bigger and more masculine figure of my brother. Orion had really changed in the past years. He had grown, his body was now taller and more muscled, his eyes had darkened, they were no longer lilac, but a dark shade of purple, and his hair was tied back into a ponytail, the dark tendrils framing his aristocratic features. Now he stood by the door, his chest bare and almost luminescent in the moonlight the streamed in from the window. My chest constricted at the sight the older male made, standing shirtless, leaning against the dark wood of my bedroom door, the light of the moon softly caressing his pale skin, and a slight smile pulling at his lips.

With a slow gait, Orion moved closer to the bed, his arms relaxed at his sides. A rosy colour took up residence upon my face at the raw sensuality that surrounded the older man. He wrapped his arms slowly around me as he reached the bed, pulling me closer to his naked chest. Gently, he laid me back onto the bed; our lips met, slow and hesitant at first, slowly gaining confidence as our kiss turned passionate. His tongue sought entrance to my mouth, which I granted quickly. We had never kissed this way before, and I didn't know why he was doing this tonight, but I had wanted this for so long and I certainly wasn't going to pass up this opportunity to show him with my body how much I love him and how much I crave his touch. My hands gripped his shoulders as his drifted under my shirt; fluttering touches teasing me, making me want more.

Our lips separated and he suckled on my neck, the feel of his lips upon my skin driving me mad with desire. My hands drifted slowly down his arms, touching his chest and coming to rest upon the waistband of his pants. He looked up at me then, a warning in his eyes as he took my hands and brought them above my head, tightly holding them there as his gaze softened, wandering down my body with a peculiar gleam. I squirmed, whether from discomfort or arousal I didn't know. His eyes snapped back to mine, his pupils were dilated so only a thin ring of purple surrounded them. He smirked at me, a smirk that screamed with lust and desires about to be fulfilled. I don't really remember much about that night. All I can recall is pain, surrounded by pleasure, and moans and whispers of "Orion" breathed in the midst of passion, I remember the way his hand gripped me and stroked me to completion while he rammed his cock up my arse, I remember the way his lips kissed me, so full of unbridled arousal, how he marked my body with his teeth; and I remember the way he held me close afterwards, as if I was something precious he could never bear to lose. And I remember the way he said "I love you", his voice breathy and slightly shaking. I will never forget the way his face lit up with happiness when I drowsily whispered back, "I love you too."

*End 1st P.o.W*

That was a year ago; they had never stopped loving each other in a physical sense. In the contrary, they had explored all the possibilities that came with it, both drawing pleasure from each other that they would never seek elsewhere.

A/N: I'm really sorry guys, I really don't know how to write a lemon, much less in 3rd person, so this was the best I could do. Really sorry about that! On the other hand, I don't think there will be anymore flashback chapters.

REVIEW YOU FUCKERS!

Okay, thanks, going now, bye!

Xoxo,

Rae


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